White, if you missed the deep, delving, inquisitive piece, now runs a winery and alpaca farm, and he does so "ankle deep in alpaca feed and horse manure," looking "fit and agile in blue jeans and a ball cap, though his grizzled beard is more white than black," carrying out a "clandestine love affair with the good earth," still able to "make the drive [to Cleveland] in 90 minutes," and hoping that his children can "find in the land what he does."

All 2005 words go on that way —

A blessed rain had just drenched Yellow Butterfly Winery and its hay fields parched by drought. White, his work shoes caked with mud, walked among his rows of traminette and vidal vines and tried to explain why he so likes his new life.

Smith, being the obedient lap dog and noted wordsmith that he is, would have made White breakfast and written some fresh poetry for him in the morning, but White was gone, already nestled up to someone on the Plain Dealer Editorial Board.

Because one full-service splash wasn't enough for the PD. No, they went back for more, and with fervor.

Say what you will about Mike White's time as mayor. Criticize his performance or his personality if you're so moved. Goodness knows that by the time he pulled the plug on his political career, he had his share of detractors. Speculate to your heart's content on the "real reasons" for his abrupt and complete exit.

But you're a real dick if you do. A real dick. Can't you just focus on his wine and alpacas. Can't you instead talk about his magnanimous and praise-worthy endeavors in his second life after not at all weirdly ducking out of what would have been a fourth term? If he doesn't want to talk about it, neither should you.

Grow up, Cleveland.

Coming soon to the pages of The Plain Dealer (if there are any writers left): Nate Gray's a really good chef these days! Kudos to him for learning how to make a decent red sauce in his new phase of life!